Pollyanna

CHAPTER VII. POLLYANNA AND PUNISHMENTS At half-past one o’clock Timothy drove Miss Polly and her niece to the four or five principal dry goods stores, which were about half a mile from the homestead. Fitting Pollyanna with a new wardrobe proved to be more or less of an exciting experience for all concerned. Miss Polly came out of it with the feeling of limp relaxation that one might have at finding oneself at last on solid earth after a perilous walk across the very thin crust of a volca- no. The various clerks who had waited upon the pair came out of it with very red faces, and enough amusing stories of Pollyanna to keep their friends in gales of laughter the rest of the week. Pollyanna herself came out of it with radiant smiles and a heart content; for, as she expressed it to one of the clerks: ‘When you haven’t had anybody but missionary barrels and Ladies’ Aiders to dress you, it IS perfectly love- ly to just walk right in and buy clothes that are brand-new, and that don’t have to be tucked up or let down because they don’t fit!’ The shopping expedition consumed the entire afternoon; then came supper and a delightful talk with Old Tom in the garden, and another with Nancy on the back porch, after the dishes were done, and while Aunt Polly paid a visit to Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 51

a neighbor. Old Tom told Pollyanna wonderful things of her mother, that made her very happy indeed; and Nancy told her all about the little farm six miles away at ‘The Corners,’ where lived her own dear mother, and her equally dear brother and sisters. She promised, too, that sometime, if Miss Polly were willing, Pollyanna should be taken to see them. ‘And THEY’VE got lovely names, too. You’ll like THEIR names,’ sighed Nancy. ‘They’re ‘Algernon,’ and ‘Florabelle’ and ‘Estelle.’ I—I just hate ‘Nancy’!’ ‘Oh, Nancy, what a dreadful thing to say! Why?’ ‘Because it isn’t pretty like the others. You see, I was the first baby, and mother hadn’t begun ter read so many stories with the pretty names in ‘em, then.’ ‘But I love ‘Nancy,’ just because it’s you,’ declared Pol- lyanna. ‘Humph! Well, I guess you could love ‘Clarissa Mabelle’ just as well,’ retorted Nancy, and it would be a heap happier for me. I think THAT name’s just grand!’ Pollyanna laughed. ‘Well, anyhow,’ she chuckled, ‘you can be glad it isn’t ‘Hephzibah.’ ‘Hephzibah!’ ‘Yes. Mrs. White’s name is that. Her husband calls her ‘Hep,’ and she doesn’t like it. She says when he calls out ‘Hep—Hep!’ she feels just as if the next minute he was going to yell ‘Hurrah!’ And she doesn’t like to be hurrahed at.’ Nancy’s gloomy face relaxed into a broad smile. ‘Well, if you don’t beat the Dutch! Say, do you know?— 52 Pollyanna

I sha’n’t never hear ‘Nancy’ now that I don’t think o’ that ‘Hep—Hep!’ and giggle. My, I guess I AM glad—‘ She stopped short and turned amazed eyes on the little girl. ‘Say, Miss Pollyanna, do you mean—was you playin’ that ‘ere game THEN—about my bein’ glad I wa’n’t named Hep- hzibah’?’ Pollyanna frowned; then she laughed. ‘Why, Nancy, that’s so! I WAS playing the game—but that’s one of the times I just did it without thinking, I reckon. You see, you DO, lots of times; you get so used to it—look- ing for something to be glad about, you know. And most generally there is something about everything that you can be glad about, if you keep hunting long enough to find it.’ ‘Well, m-maybe,’ granted Nancy, with open doubt. At half-past eight Pollyanna went up to bed. The screens had not yet come, and the close little room was like an oven. With longing eyes Pollyanna looked at the two fast-closed windows—but she did not raise them. She undressed, fold- ed her clothes neatly, said her prayers, blew out her candle and climbed into bed. Just how long she lay in sleepless misery, tossing from side to side of the hot little cot, she did not know; but it seemed to her that it must have been hours before she fi- nally slipped out of bed, felt her way across the room and opened her door. Out in the main attic all was velvet blackness save where the moon flung a path of silver half-way across the floor from the east dormer window. With a resolute ignoring of that fearsome darkness to the right and to the left, Polly- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 53

anna drew a quick breath and pattered straight into that silvery path, and on to the window. She had hoped, vaguely, that this window might have a screen, but it did not. Outside, however, there was a wide world of fairy-like beauty, and there was, too, she knew, fresh, sweet air that would feel so good to hot cheeks and hands! As she stepped nearer and peered longingly out, she saw something else: she saw, only a little way below the window, the wide, flat tin roof of Miss Polly’s sun parlor built over the porte-cochere. The sight filled her with longing. If only, now, she were out there! Fearfully she looked behind her. Back there, somewhere, were her hot little room and her still hotter bed; but be- tween her and them lay a horrid desert of blackness across which one must feel one’s way with outstretched, shrinking arms; while before her, out on the sun-parlor roof, were the moonlight and the cool, sweet night air. If only her bed were out there! And folks did sleep out of doors. Joel Hartley at home, who was so sick with the con- sumption, HAD to sleep out of doors. Suddenly Pollyanna remembered that she had seen near this attic window a row of long white bags hanging from nails. Nancy had said that they contained the winter clothing, put away for the summer. A little fearfully now, Pollyanna felt her way to these bags, selected a nice fat soft one (it contained Miss Polly’s sealskin coat) for a bed; and a thinner one to be doubled up for a pillow, and still an- other (which was so thin it seemed almost empty) for a 54 Pollyanna

covering. Thus equipped, Pollyanna in high glee pattered to the moonlit window again, raised the sash, stuffed her burden through to the roof below, then let herself down af- ter it, closing the window carefully behind her—Pollyanna had not forgotten those flies with the marvellous feet that carried things. How deliciously cool it was! Pollyanna quite danced up and down with delight, drawing in long, full breaths of the refreshing air. The tin roof under her feet crackled with little resounding snaps that Pollyanna rather liked. She walked, indeed, two or three times back and forth from end to end—it gave her such a pleasant sensation of airy space after her hot little room; and the roof was so broad and flat that she had no fear of falling off. Finally, with a sigh of content, she curled herself up on the sealskin-coat mattress, arranged one bag for a pillow and the other for a covering, and settled herself to sleep. ‘I’m so glad now that the screens didn’t come,’ she mur- mured, blinking up at the stars; ‘else I couldn’t have had this!’ Down-stairs in Miss Polly’s room next the sun parlor, Miss Polly herself was hurrying into dressing gown and slippers, her face white and frightened. A minute before she had been telephoning in a shaking voice to Timothy: ‘Come up quick!—you and your father. Bring lanterns. Somebody is on the roof of the sun parlor. He must have climbed up the rose-trellis or somewhere, and of course he can get right into the house through the east window in the attic. I have locked the attic door down here—but hurry, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 55

quick!’ Some time later, Pollyanna, just dropping off to sleep, was startled by a lantern flash, and a trio of amazed ejacu- lations. She opened her eyes to find Timothy at the top of a ladder near her, Old Tom just getting through the window, and her aunt peering out at her from behind him. ‘Pollyanna, what does this mean?’ cried Aunt Polly then. Pollyanna blinked sleepy eyes and sat up. ‘Why, Mr. Tom—Aunt Polly!’ she stammered. ‘Don’t look so scared! It isn’t that I’ve got the consumption, you know, like Joel Hartley. It’s only that I was so hot—in there. But I shut the window, Aunt Polly, so the flies couldn’t carry those germ-things in.’ Timothy disappeared suddenly down the ladder. Old Tom, with almost equal precipitation, handed his lantern to Miss Polly, and followed his son. Miss Polly bit her lip hard—until the men were gone; then she said sternly: ‘Pollyanna, hand those things to me at once and come in here. Of all the extraordinary children!’ she ejaculated a little later, as, with Pollyanna by her side, and the lantern in her hand, she turned back into the attic. To Pollyanna the air was all the more stifling after that cool breath of the out of doors; but she did not complain. She only drew a long quivering sigh. At the top of the stairs Miss Polly jerked out crisply: ‘For the rest of the night, Pollyanna, you are to sleep in my bed with me. The screens will be here to-morrow, but until then I consider it my duty to keep you where I know where you are.’ 56 Pollyanna

Pollyanna drew in her breath. ‘With you?—in your bed?’ she cried rapturously. ‘Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely of you! And when I’ve so wanted to sleep with some one sometime— some one that belonged to me, you know; not a Ladies’ Aider. I’ve HAD them. My! I reckon I am glad now those screens didn’t come! Wouldn’t you be?’ There was no reply. Miss Polly was stalking on ahead. Miss Polly, to tell the truth, was feeling curiously helpless. For the third time since Pollyanna’s arrival, Miss Polly was punishing Pollyanna—and for the third time she was being confronted with the amazing fact that her punishment was being taken as a special reward of merit. No wonder Miss Polly was feeling curiously helpless. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 57

CHAPTER VIII. POLLYANNA PAYS A VISIT It was not long before life at the Harrington homestead settled into something like order—though not exactly the order that Miss Polly had at first prescribed. Pollyanna sewed, practised, read aloud, and studied cooking in the kitchen, it is true; but she did not give to any of these things quite so much time as had first been planned. She had more time, also, to ‘just live,’ as she expressed it, for almost all of every afternoon from two until six o’clock was hers to do with as she liked—provided she did not ‘like’ to do certain things already prohibited by Aunt Polly. It is a question, perhaps, whether all this leisure time was given to the child as a relief to Pollyanna from work—or as a relief to Aunt Polly from Pollyanna. Certainly, as those first July days passed, Miss Polly found occasion many times to ejaculate ‘What an extraordinary child!’ and certainly the reading and sewing lessons found her at their conclusion each day somewhat dazed and wholly exhausted. Nancy, in the kitchen, fared better. She was not dazed nor exhausted. Wednesdays and Saturdays came to be, in- deed, red-letter days to her. There were no children in the immediate neighborhood of the Harrington homestead for Pollyanna to play with. The 58 Pollyanna

house itself was on the outskirts of the village, and though there were other houses not far away, they did not chance to contain any boys or girls near Pollyanna’s age. This, how- ever, did not seem to disturb Pollyanna in the least. ‘Oh, no, I don’t mind it at all,’ she explained to Nancy. ‘I’m happy just to walk around and see the streets and the houses and watch the people. I just love people. Don’t you, Nancy?’ ‘Well, I can’t say I do—all of ‘em,’ retorted Nancy, terse- ly. Almost every pleasant afternoon found Pollyanna beg- ging for ‘an errand to run,’ so that she might be off for a walk in one direction or another; and it was on these walks that frequently she met the Man. To herself Pollyanna al- ways called him ‘the Man,’ no matter if she met a dozen other men the same day. The Man often wore a long black coat and a high silk hat— two things that the ‘just men’ never wore. His face was clean shaven and rather pale, and his hair, showing below his hat, was somewhat gray. He walked erect, and rather rapidly, and he was always alone, which made Pollyanna vaguely sorry for him. Perhaps it was because of this that she one day spoke to him. ‘How do you do, sir? Isn’t this a nice day?’ she called cheerily, as she approached him. The man threw a hurried glance about him, then stopped uncertainly. ‘Did you speak—to me?’ he asked in a sharp voice. ‘Yes, sir,’ beamed Pollyanna. ‘I say, it’s a nice day, isn’t it?’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 59

‘Eh? Oh! Humph!’ he grunted; and strode on again. Pollyanna laughed. He was such a funny man, she thought. The next day she saw him again. ‘ ‘Tisn’t quite so nice as yesterday, but it’s pretty nice,’ she called out cheerfully. ‘Eh? Oh! Humph!’ grunted the man as before; and once again Pollyanna laughed happily. When for the third time Pollyanna accosted him in much the same manner, the man stopped abruptly. ‘See here, child, who are you, and why are you speaking to me every day?’ ‘I’m Pollyanna Whittier, and I thought you looked lone- some. I’m so glad you stopped. Now we’re introduced—only I don’t know your name yet.’ ‘Well, of all the—‘ The man did not finish his sentence, but strode on faster than ever. Pollyanna looked after him with a disappointed droop to her usually smiling lips. ‘Maybe he didn’t understand—but that was only half an introduction. I don’t know HIS name, yet,’ she murmured, as she proceeded on her way. Pollyanna was carrying calf’s-foot jelly to Mrs. Snow to- day. Miss Polly Harrington always sent something to Mrs. Snow once a week. She said she thought that it was her duty, inasmuch as Mrs. Snow was poor, sick, and a member of her church—it was the duty of all the church members to look out for her, of course. Miss Polly did her duty by Mrs. Snow usually on Thursday afternoons—not personally, but 60 Pollyanna

through Nancy. To-day Pollyanna had begged the privilege, and Nancy had promptly given it to her in accordance with Miss Polly’s orders. ‘And it’s glad that I am ter get rid of it,’ Nancy had de- clared in private afterwards to Pollyanna; ‘though it’s a shame ter be tuckin’ the job off on ter you, poor lamb, so it is, it is!’ ‘But I’d love to do it, Nancy.’ ‘Well, you won’t—after you’ve done it once,’ predicted Nancy, sourly. ‘Why not?’ ‘Because nobody does. If folks wa’n’t sorry for her there wouldn’t a soul go near her from mornin’ till night, she’s that cantankerous. All is, I pity her daughter what HAS ter take care of her.’ ‘But, why, Nancy?’ Nancy shrugged her shoulders. ‘Well, in plain words, it’s just that nothin’ what ever has happened, has happened right in Mis’ Snow’s eyes. Even the days of the week ain’t run ter her mind. If it’s Monday she’s bound ter say she wished ‘twas Sunday; and if you take her jelly you’re pretty sure ter hear she wanted chicken—but if you DID bring her chicken, she’d be jest hankerin’ for lamb broth!’ ‘Why, what a funny woman,’ laughed Pollyanna. ‘I think I shall like to go to see her. She must be so surprising and— and different. I love DIFFERENT folks.’ ‘Humph! Well, Mis’ Snow’s ‘different,’ all right—I hope, for the sake of the rest of us!’ Nancy had finished grimly. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 61

Pollyanna was thinking of these remarks to-day as she turned in at the gate of the shabby little cottage. Her eyes were quite sparkling, indeed, at the prospect of meeting this ‘different’ Mrs. Snow. A pale-faced, tired-looking young girl answered her knock at the door. ‘How do you do?’ began Pollyanna politely. ‘I’m from Miss Polly Harrington, and I’d like to see Mrs. Snow, please.’ ‘Well, if you would, you’re the first one that ever ‘liked’ to see her,’ muttered the girl under her breath; but Pollyanna did not hear this. The girl had turned and was leading the way through the hall to a door at the end of it. In the sick-room, after the girl had ushered her in and closed the door, Pollyanna blinked a little before she could accustom her eyes to the gloom. Then she saw, dimly out- lined, a woman half-sitting up in the bed across the room. Pollyanna advanced at once. ‘How do you do, Mrs. Snow? Aunt Polly says she hopes you are comfortable to-day, and she’s sent you some calf’s- foot jelly.’ ‘Dear me! jelly?’ murmured a fretful voice, ‘Of course I’m very much obliged, but I was hoping ‘twould be lamb broth to-day.’ Pollyanna frowned a little. ‘Why, I thought it was CHICKEN you wanted when folks brought you jelly,’ she said. ‘What?’ The sick woman turned sharply. ‘Why, nothing, much,’ apologized Pollyanna, hurriedly; ‘and of course it doesn’t really make any difference. It’s only 62 Pollyanna

that Nancy said it was chicken you wanted when we brought jelly, and lamb broth when we brought chicken—but maybe ‘twas the other way, and Nancy forgot.’ The sick woman pulled herself up till she sat erect in the bed—a most unusual thing for her to do, though Pollyanna did not know this. ‘Well, Miss Impertinence, who are you?’ she demanded. Pollyanna laughed gleefully. ‘Oh, THAT isn’t my name, Mrs. Snow—and I’m so glad ‘tisn’t, too! That would be worse than ‘Hephzibah,’ wouldn’t it? I’m Pollyanna Whittier, Miss Polly Harrington’s niece, and I’ve come to live with her. That’s why I’m here with the jelly this morning.’ All through the first part of this sentence, the sick wom- an had sat interestedly erect; but at the reference to the jelly she fell back on her pillow listlessly. ‘Very well; thank you. Your aunt is very kind, of course, but my appetite isn’t very good this morning, and I was wanting lamb—‘ She stopped suddenly, then went on with an abrupt change of subject. ‘I never slept a wink last night— not a wink!’ ‘O dear, I wish I didn’t,’ sighed Pollyanna, placing the jelly on the little stand and seating herself comfortably in the nearest chair. ‘You lose such a lot of time just sleeping! Don’t you think so?’ ‘Lose time—sleeping!’ exclaimed the sick woman. ‘Yes, when you might be just living, you know. It seems such a pity we can’t live nights, too.’ Once again the woman pulled herself erect in her bed. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 63

‘Well, if you ain’t the amazing young one!’ she cried. ‘Here! do you go to that window and pull up the curtain,’ she directed. ‘I should like to know what you look like!’ Pollyanna rose to her feet, but she laughed a little rue- fully. ‘O dear! then you’ll see my freckles, won’t you?’ she sighed, as she went to the window; ‘—and just when I was being so glad it was dark and you couldn’t see ‘em. There! Now you can—oh!’ she broke off excitedly, as she turned back to the bed; ‘I’m so glad you wanted to see me, because now I can see you! They didn’t tell me you were so pretty!’ ‘Me!—pretty!’ scoffed the woman, bitterly. ‘Why, yes. Didn’t you know it?’ cried Pollyanna. ‘Well, no, I didn’t,’ retorted Mrs. Snow, dryly. Mrs. Snow had lived forty years, and for fifteen of those years she had been too busy wishing things were different to find much time to enjoy things as they were. ‘Oh, but your eyes are so big and dark, and your hair’s all dark, too, and curly,’ cooed Pollyanna. ‘I love black curls. (That’s one of the things I’m going to have when I get to Heaven.) And you’ve got two little red spots in your cheeks. Why, Mrs. Snow, you ARE pretty! I should think you’d know it when you looked at yourself in the glass.’ ‘The glass!’ snapped the sick woman, falling back on her pillow. ‘Yes, well, I hain’t done much prinkin’ before the mirror these days—and you wouldn’t, if you was flat on your back as I am!’ ‘Why, no, of course not,’ agreed Pollyanna, sympa- thetically. ‘But wait—just let me show you,’ she exclaimed, 64 Pollyanna

skipping over to the bureau and picking up a small hand- glass. On the way back to the bed she stopped, eyeing the sick woman with a critical gaze. ‘I reckon maybe, if you don’t mind, I’d like to fix your hair just a little before I let you see it,’ she proposed. ‘May I fix your hair, please?’ ‘Why, I—suppose so, if you want to,’ permitted Mrs. Snow, grudgingly; ‘but ‘twon’t stay, you know.’ ‘Oh, thank you. I love to fix people’s hair,’ exulted Pol- lyanna, carefully laying down the hand-glass and reaching for a comb. ‘I sha’n’t do much to-day, of course—I’m in such a hurry for you to see how pretty you are; but some day I’m going to take it all down and have a perfectly lovely time with it, she cried, touching with soft fingers the waving hair above the sick woman’s forehead. For five minutes Pollyanna worked swiftly, deftly, comb- ing a refractory curl into fluffiness, perking up a drooping ruffle at the neck, or shaking a pillow into plumpness so that the head might have a better pose. Meanwhile the sick woman, frowning prodigiously, and openly scoffing at the whole procedure, was, in spite of herself, beginning to tin- gle with a feeling perilously near to excitement. ‘There!’ panted Pollyanna, hastily plucking a pink from a vase near by and tucking it into the dark hair where it would give the best effect. ‘Now I reckon we’re ready to be looked at!’ And she held out the mirror in triumph. ‘Humph!’ grunted the sick woman, eyeing her reflection severely. ‘I like red pinks better than pink ones; but then, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 65

it’ll fade, anyhow, before night, so what’s the difference!’ ‘But I should think you’d be glad they did fade,’ laughed Pollyanna, ‘ ‘cause then you can have the fun of getting some more. I just love your hair fluffed out like that,’ she finished with a satisfied gaze. ‘Don’t you?’ ‘Hm-m; maybe. Still—‘twon’t last, with me tossing back and forth on the pillow as I do.’ ‘Of course not—and I’m glad, too,’ nodded Pollyan- na, cheerfully, ‘because then I can fix it again. Anyhow, I should think you’d be glad it’s black—black shows up so much nicer on a pillow than yellow hair like mine does.’ ‘Maybe; but I never did set much store by black hair— shows gray too soon,’ retorted Mrs. Snow. She spoke fretfully, but she still held the mirror before her face. ‘Oh, I love black hair! I should be so glad if I only had it,’ sighed Pollyanna. Mrs. Snow dropped the mirror and turned irritably. ‘Well, you wouldn’t!—not if you were me. You wouldn’t be glad for black hair nor anything else—if you had to lie here all day as I do!’ Pollyanna bent her brows in a thoughtful frown. ‘Why, ‘twould be kind of hard—to do it then, wouldn’t it?’ she mused aloud. ‘Do what?’ ‘Be glad about things.’ ‘Be glad about things—when you’re sick in bed all your days? Well, I should say it would,’ retorted Mrs. Snow. ‘If you don’t think so, just tell me something to be glad about; that’s all!’ 66 Pollyanna

To Mrs. Snow’s unbounded amazement, Pollyanna sprang to her feet and clapped her hands. ‘Oh, goody! That’ll be a hard one—won’t it? I’ve got to go, now, but I’ll think and think all the way home; and may- be the next time I come I can tell it to you. Good-by. I’ve had a lovely time! Good-by,’ she called again, as she tripped through the doorway. ‘Well, I never! Now, what does she mean by that?’ ejac- ulated Mrs. Snow, staring after her visitor. By and by she turned her head and picked up the mirror, eyeing her re- flection critically. ‘That little thing HAS got a knack with hair and no mis- take,’ she muttered under her breath. ‘I declare, I didn’t know it could look so pretty. But then, what’s the use?’ she sighed, dropping the little glass into the bedclothes, and rolling her head on the pillow fretfully. A little later, when Milly, Mrs. Snow’s daughter, came in, the mirror still lay among the bedclothes it had been care- fully hidden from sight. ‘Why, mother—the curtain is up!’ cried Milly, dividing her amazed stare between the window and the pink in her mother’s hair. ‘Well, what if it is?’ snapped the sick woman. ‘I needn’t stay in the dark all my life, if I am sick, need I?’ ‘Why, n-no, of course not,’ rejoined Milly, in hasty concili- ation, as she reached for the medicine bottle. ‘It’s only—well, you know very well that I’ve tried to get you to have a lighter room for ages and you wouldn’t.’ There was no reply to this. Mrs. Snow was picking at the Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 67

lace on her nightgown. At last she spoke fretfully. ‘I should think SOMEBODY might give me a new night- dress—instead of lamb broth, for a change! ‘Why—mother!’ No wonder Milly quite gasped aloud with bewilderment. In the drawer behind her at that moment lay two new night- dresses that Milly for months had been vainly urging her mother to wear. 68 Pollyanna

CHAPTER IX. WHICH TELLS OF THE MAN It rained the next time Pollyanna saw the Man. She greet- ed him, however, with a bright smile. ‘It isn’t so nice to-day, is it?’ she called blithesomely. ‘I’m glad it doesn’t rain always, anyhow!’ The man did not even grunt this time, nor turn his head. Pollyanna decided that of course he did not hear her. The next time, therefore (which happened to be the following day), she spoke up louder. She thought it particularly nec- essary to do this, anyway, for the Man was striding along, his hands behind his back, and his eyes on the ground— which seemed, to Pollyanna, preposterous in the face of the glorious sunshine and the freshly-washed morning air: Pol- lyanna, as a special treat, was on a morning errand to-day. ‘How do you do?’ she chirped. ‘I’m so glad it isn’t yester- day, aren’t you? The man stopped abruptly. There was an angry scowl on his face. ‘See here, little girl, we might just as well settle this thing right now, once for all,’ he began testily. ‘I’ve got something besides the weather to think of. I don’t know whether the sun shines or not.’ Pollyanna beamed joyously. ‘No, sir; I thought you didn’t. That’s why I told you.’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 69

‘Yes; well—Eh? What?’ he broke off sharply, in sudden understanding of her words. ‘I say, that’s why I told you—so you would notice it, you know—that the sun shines, and all that. I knew you’d be glad it did if you only stopped to think of it—and you didn’t look a bit as if you WERE thinking of it!’ ‘Well, of all the—‘ ejaculated the man, with an oddly impotent gesture. He started forward again, but after the second step he turned back, still frowning. ‘See here, why don’t you find some one your own age to talk to?’ ‘I’d like to, sir, but there aren’t any ‘round here, Nancy says. Still, I don’t mind so very much. I like old folks just as well, maybe better, sometimes—being used to the Ladies’ Aid, so.’ ‘Humph! The Ladies’ Aid, indeed! Is that what you took me for?’ The man’s lips were threatening to smile, but the scowl above them was still trying to hold them grimly stern. Pollyanna laughed gleefully. ‘Oh, no, sir. You don’t look a mite like a Ladies’ Aider— not but that you’re just as good, of course—maybe better,’ she added in hurried politeness. ‘You see, I’m sure you’re much nicer than you look!’ The man made a queer noise in his throat. ‘Well, of all the—‘ he ejaculated again, as he turned and strode on as before. The next time Pollyanna met the Man, his eyes were gaz- ing straight into hers, with a quizzical directness that made 70 Pollyanna

his face look really pleasant, Pollyanna thought. ‘Good afternoon,’ he greeted her a little stiffly. ‘Perhaps I’d better say right away that I KNOW the sun is shining to-day.’ ‘But you don’t have to tell me,’ nodded Pollyanna, bright- ly. ‘I KNEW you knew it just as soon as I saw you.’ ‘Oh, you did, did you?’ ‘Yes, sir; I saw it in your eyes, you know, and in your smile.’ ‘Humph!’ grunted the man, as he passed on. The Man always spoke to Pollyanna after this, and fre- quently he spoke first, though usually he said little but ‘good afternoon.’ Even that, however, was a great surprise to Nancy, who chanced to be with Pollyanna one day when the greeting was given. ‘Sakes alive, Miss Pollyanna,’ she gasped, ‘did that man SPEAK TO YOU?’ ‘Why, yes, he always does—now,’ smiled Pollyanna. ‘ ‘He always does’! Goodness! Do you know who—he— is?’ demanded Nancy. Pollyanna frowned and shook her head. ‘I reckon he forgot to tell me one day. You see, I did my part of the introducing, but he didn’t.’ Nancy’s eyes widened. ‘But he never speaks ter anybody, child—he hain’t for years, I guess, except when he just has to, for business, and all that. He’s John Pendleton. He lives all by himself in the big house on Pendleton Hill. He won’t even have any one ‘round ter cook for him—comes down ter the hotel for his Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 71

meals three times a day. I know Sally Miner, who waits on him, and she says he hardly opens his head enough ter tell what he wants ter eat. She has ter guess it more’n half the time—only it’ll be somethin’ CHEAP! She knows that without no tellin’.’ Pollyanna nodded sympathetically. ‘I know. You have to look for cheap things when you’re poor. Father and I took meals out a lot. We had beans and fish balls most generally. We used to say how glad we were we liked beans—that is, we said it specially when we were looking at the roast turkey place, you know, that was sixty cents. Does Mr. Pendleton like beans?’ ‘Like ‘em! What if he does—or don’t? Why, Miss Polly- anna, he ain’t poor. He’s got loads of money, John Pendleton has—from his father. There ain’t nobody in town as rich as he is. He could eat dollar bills, if he wanted to—and not know it.’ Pollyanna giggled. ‘As if anybody COULD eat dollar bills and not know it, Nancy, when they come to try to chew ‘em!’ ‘Ho! I mean he’s rich enough ter do it,’ shrugged Nancy. ‘He ain’t spendin’ his money, that’s all. He’s a-savin’ of it.’ ‘Oh, for the heathen,’ surmised Pollyanna. ‘How perfectly splendid! That’s denying yourself and taking up your cross. I know; father told me.’ Nancy’s lips parted abruptly, as if there were angry words all ready to come; but her eyes, resting on Pollyan- na’s jubilantly trustful face, saw something that prevented the words being spoken. 72 Pollyanna

‘Humph!’ she vouchsafed. Then, showing her old-time interest, she went on: ‘But, say, it is queer, his speakin’ to you, honestly, Miss Pollyanna. He don’t speak ter no one; and he lives all alone in a great big lovely house all full of jest grand things, they say. Some says he’s crazy, and some jest cross; and some says he’s got a skeleton in his closet.’ ‘Oh, Nancy!’ shuddered Pollyanna. ‘How can he keep such a dreadful thing? I should think he’d throw it away!’ Nancy chuckled. That Pollyanna had taken the skeleton literally instead of figuratively, she knew very well; but, per- versely, she refrained from correcting the mistake. ‘And EVERYBODY says he’s mysterious,’ she went on. ‘Some years he jest travels, week in and week out, and it’s al- ways in heathen countries—Egypt and Asia and the Desert of Sarah, you know.’ ‘Oh, a missionary,’ nodded Pollyanna. Nancy laughed oddly. ‘Well, I didn’t say that, Miss Pollyanna. When he comes back he writes books—queer, odd books, they say, about some gimcrack he’s found in them heathen countries. But he don’t never seem ter want ter spend no money here— leastways, not for jest livin’.’ ‘Of course not—if he’s saving it for the heathen,’ declared Pollyanna. ‘But he is a funny man, and he’s different, too, just like Mrs. Snow, only he’s a different different.’ ‘Well, I guess he is—rather,’ chuckled Nancy. ‘I’m gladder’n ever now, anyhow, that he speaks to me,’ sighed Pollyanna contentedly. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 73

CHAPTER X. A SURPRISE FOR MRS. SNOW The next time Pollyanna went to see Mrs. Snow, she found that lady, as at first, in a darkened room. ‘It’s the little girl from Miss Polly’s, mother,’ announced Milly, in a tired manner; then Pollyanna found herself alone with the invalid. ‘Oh, it’s you, is it?’ asked a fretful voice from the bed. ‘I remember you. ANYbody’d remember you, I guess, if they saw you once. I wish you had come yesterday. I WANTED you yesterday.’ ‘Did you? Well, I’m glad ‘tisn’t any farther away from yesterday than to-day is, then,’ laughed Pollyanna, advanc- ing cheerily into the room, and setting her basket carefully down on a chair. ‘My! but aren’t you dark here, though? I can’t see you a bit,’ she cried, unhesitatingly crossing to the window and pulling up the shade. ‘I want to see if you’ve fixed your hair like I did—oh, you haven’t! But, never mind; I’m glad you haven’t, after all, ‘cause maybe you’ll let me do it—later. But now I want you to see what I’ve brought you.’ The woman stirred restlessly. ‘Just as if how it looks would make any difference in how it tastes,’ she scoffed—but she turned her eyes toward the basket. ‘Well, what is it?’ 74 Pollyanna

‘Guess! What do you want?’ Pollyanna had skipped back to the basket. Her face was alight. The sick woman frowned. ‘Why, I don’t WANT anything, as I know of,’ she sighed. ‘After all, they all taste alike!’ Pollyanna chuckled. ‘This won’t. Guess! If you DID want something, what would it be?’ The woman hesitated. She did not realize it herself, but she had so long been accustomed to wanting what she did not have, that to state off-hand what she DID want seemed impossible—until she knew what she had. Obviously, how- ever, she must say something. This extraordinary child was waiting. ‘Well, of course, there’s lamb broth—‘ ‘I’ve got it!’ crowed Pollyanna. ‘But that’s what I DIDN’T want,’ sighed the sick wom- an, sure now of what her stomach craved. ‘It was chicken I wanted.’ ‘Oh, I’ve got that, too,’ chuckled Pollyanna. The woman turned in amazement. ‘Both of them?’ she demanded. ‘Yes—and calf’s-foot jelly,’ triumphed Pollyanna. ‘I was just bound you should have what you wanted for once; so Nancy and I fixed it. Oh, of course, there’s only a little of each—but there’s some of all of ‘em! I’m so glad you did want chicken,’ she went on contentedly, as she lifted the three little bowls from her basket. ‘You see, I got to think- ing on the way here—what if you should say tripe, or onions, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 75

or something like that, that I didn’t have! Wouldn’t it have been a shame—when I’d tried so hard?’ she laughed mer- rily. There was no reply. The sick woman seemed to be try- ing—mentally to find something she had lost. ‘There! I’m to leave them all,’ announced Pollyanna, as she arranged the three bowls in a row on the table. ‘Like enough it’ll be lamb broth you want to-morrow. How do you do to-day?’ she finished in polite inquiry. ‘Very poorly, thank you,’ murmured Mrs. Snow, fall- ing back into her usual listless attitude. ‘I lost my nap this morning. Nellie Higgins next door has begun music lessons, and her practising drives me nearly wild. She was at it all the morning—every minute! I’m sure, I don’t know what I shall do!’ Polly nodded sympathetically. ‘I know. It IS awful! Mrs. White had it once—one of my Ladies’ Aiders, you know. She had rheumatic fever, too, at the same time, so she couldn’t thrash ‘round. She said ‘twould have been easier if she could have. Can you?’ ‘Can I—what?’ ‘Thrash ‘round—move, you know, so as to change your position when the music gets too hard to stand.’ Mrs. Snow stared a little. ‘Why, of course I can move—anywhere—in bed,’ she re- joined a little irritably. ‘Well, you can be glad of that, then, anyhow. can’t you?’ nodded Pollyanna. ‘Mrs. White couldn’t. You can’t thrash when you have rheumatic fever—though you want to some- 76 Pollyanna

thing awful, Mrs. White says. She told me afterwards she reckoned she’d have gone raving crazy if it hadn’t been for Mr. White’s sister’s ears—being deaf, so.’ ‘Sister’s—EARS! What do you mean?’ Pollyanna laughed. ‘Well, I reckon I didn’t tell it all, and I forgot you didn’t know Mrs. White. You see, Miss White was deaf—awful- ly deaf; and she came to visit ‘em and to help take care of Mrs. White and the house. Well, they had such an awful time making her understand ANYTHING, that after that, every time the piano commenced to play across the street, Mrs. White felt so glad she COULD hear it, that she didn’t mind so much that she DID hear it, ‘cause she couldn’t help thinking how awful ‘twould be if she was deaf and couldn’t hear anything, like her husband’s sister. You see, she was playing the game, too. I’d told her about it.’ ‘The—game?’ Pollyanna clapped her hands. ‘There! I ‘most forgot; but I’ve thought it up, Mrs. Snow— what you can be glad about.’ ‘GLAD about! What do you mean?’ ‘Why, I told you I would. Don’t you remember? You asked me to tell you something to be glad about—glad, you know, even though you did have to lie here abed all day.’ ‘Oh!’ scoffed the woman. ‘THAT? Yes, I remember that; but I didn’t suppose you were in earnest any more than I was.’ ‘Oh, yes, I was,’ nodded Pollyanna, triumphantly; ‘and I found it, too. But ‘TWAS hard. It’s all the more fun, though, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 77

always, when ‘tis hard. And I will own up, honest to true, that I couldn’t think of anything for a while. Then I got it.’ ‘Did you, really? Well, what is it?’ Mrs. Snow’s voice was sarcastically polite. Pollyanna drew a long breath. ‘I thought—how glad you could be—that other folks weren’t like you—all sick in bed like this, you know,’ she announced impressively. Mrs, Snow stared. Her eyes were angry. ‘Well, really!’ she ejaculated then, in not quite an agree- able tone of voice. ‘And now I’ll tell you the game,’ proposed Pollyanna, blithely confident. ‘It’ll be just lovely for you to play—it’ll be so hard. And there’s so much more fun when it is hard! You see, it’s like this.’ And she began to tell of the mission- ary barrel, the crutches, and the doll that did not come. The story was just finished when Milly appeared at the door. ‘Your aunt is wanting you, Miss Pollyanna,’ she said with dreary listlessness. ‘She telephoned down to the Harlows’ across the way. She says you’re to hurry—that you’ve got some practising to make up before dark.’ Pollyanna rose reluctantly. ‘All right,’ she sighed. ‘I’ll hurry.’ Suddenly she laughed. ‘I suppose I ought to be glad I’ve got legs to hurry with, hadn’t I, Mrs., Snow?’ There was no answer. Mrs. Snow’s eyes were closed. But Milly, whose eyes were wide open with surprise, saw that there were tears on the wasted cheeks. 78 Pollyanna

‘Good-by,’ flung Pollyanna over her shoulder, as she reached the door. ‘I’m awfully sorry about the hair—I want- ed to do it. But maybe I can next time!’ One by one the July days passed. To Pollyanna, they were happy days, indeed. She often told her aunt, joyously, how very happy they were. Whereupon her aunt would usually reply, wearily: ‘Very well, Pollyanna. I am gratified, of course, that they are happy; but I trust that they are profitable, as well—oth- erwise I should have failed signally in my duty.’ Generally Pollyanna would answer this with a hug and a kiss—a proceeding that was still always most disconcert- ing to Miss Polly; but one day she spoke. It was during the sewing hour. ‘Do you mean that it wouldn’t be enough then, Aunt Pol- ly, that they should be just happy days?’ she asked wistfully. ‘That is what I mean, Pollyanna.’ ‘They must be pro-fi-ta-ble as well? ‘Certainly.’ ‘What is being pro-fi-ta-ble? ‘Why, it—it’s just being profitable—having profit, some- thing to show for it, Pollyanna. What an extraordinary child you are!’ ‘Then just being glad isn’t pro-fi-ta-ble?’ questioned Pol- lyanna, a little anxiously. ‘Certainly not.’ ‘O dear! Then you wouldn’t like it, of course. I’m afraid, now, you won’t ever play the game, Aunt Polly.’ ‘Game? What game?’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 79

‘Why, that father—‘ Pollyanna clapped her hand to her lips. ‘N-nothing,’ she stammered. Miss Polly frowned. ‘That will do for this morning, Pollyanna,’ she said terse- ly. And the sewing lesson was over. It was that afternoon that Pollyanna, coming down from her attic room, met her aunt on the stairway. ‘Why, Aunt Polly, how perfectly lovely!’ she cried. ‘You were coming up to see me! Come right in. I love compa- ny,’ she finished, scampering up the stairs and throwing her door wide open. Now Miss Polly had not been intending to call on her niece. She had been planning to look for a certain white wool shawl in the cedar chest near the east window. But to her unbounded surprise now, she found herself, not in the main attic before the cedar chest, but in Pollyanna’s little room sitting in one of the straight-backed chairs—so many, many times since Pollyanna came, Miss Polly had found herself like this, doing some utterly unexpected, surprising thing, quite unlike the thing she had set out to do! ‘I love company,’ said Pollyanna, again, flitting about as if she were dispensing the hospitality of a palace; ‘specially since I’ve had this room, all mine, you know. Oh, of course, I had a room, always, but ‘twas a hired room, and hired rooms aren’t half as nice as owned ones, are they? And of course I do own this one, don’t I?’ ‘Why, y-yes, Pollyanna,’ murmured Miss Polly, vaguely wondering why she did not get up at once and go to look for that shawl. ‘And of course NOW I just love this room, even if it hasn’t 80 Pollyanna

got the carpets and curtains and pictures that I’d been want—‘ With a painful blush Pollyanna stopped short. She was plunging into an entirely different sentence when her aunt interrupted her sharply. ‘What’s that, Pollyanna?’ ‘N-nothing, Aunt Polly, truly. I didn’t mean to say it.’ ‘Probably not,’ returned Miss Polly, coldly; ‘but you did say it, so suppose we have the rest of it.’ ‘But it wasn’t anything only that I’d been kind of plan- ning on pretty carpets and lace curtains and things, you know,. But, of course—‘ ‘PLANNING on them!’ interrupted Miss Polly, sharply. Pollyanna blushed still more painfully. ‘I ought not to have, of course, Aunt Polly,’ she apologized. ‘It was only because I’d always wanted them and hadn’t had them, I suppose. Oh, we’d had two rugs in the barrels, but they were little, you know, and one had ink spots, and the other holes; and there never were only those two pic- tures; the one fath—I mean the good one we sold, and the bad one that broke. Of course if it hadn’t been for all that I shouldn’t have wanted them, so—pretty things, I mean; and I shouldn’t have got to planning all through the hall that first day how pretty mine would be here, and—and But, truly, Aunt Polly, it wasn’t but just a minute—I mean, a few minutes—before I was being glad that the bureau DIDN’T have a looking-glass, because it didn’t show my freckles; and there couldn’t be a nicer picture than the one out my window there; and you’ve been so good to me, that—‘ Miss Polly rose suddenly to her feet. Her face was very Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 81

red. ‘That will do, Pollyanna,’ she said stiffly. ‘You have said quite enough, I’m sure.’ The next minute she had swept down the stairs—and not until she reached the first floor did it suddenly occur to her that she had gone up into the attic to find a white wool shawl in the cedar chest near the east window. Less than twenty-four hours later, Miss Polly said to Nancy, crisply: ‘Nancy, you may move Miss Pollyanna’s things down- stairs this morning to the room directly beneath. I have decided to have my niece sleep there for the present.’ ‘Yes, ma’am,’ said Nancy aloud. ‘O glory!’ said Nancy to herself. To Pollyanna, a minute later, she cried joyously: ‘And won’t ye jest be listenin’ ter this, Miss Pollyanna. You’re ter sleep down-stairs in the room straight under this. You are—you are!’ Pollyanna actually grew white. ‘You mean—why, Nancy, not really—really and truly?’ ‘I guess you’ll think it’s really and truly,’ prophesied Nancy, exultingly, nodding her head to Pollyanna over the armful of dresses she had taken from the closet. ‘I’m told ter take down yer things, and I’m goin’ ter take ‘em, too, ‘fore she gets a chance ter change her mind.’ Pollyanna did not stop to hear the end of this sentence. At the imminent risk of being dashed headlong, she was fly- ing down-stairs, two steps at a time. Bang went two doors and a chair before Pollyanna at last 82 Pollyanna

reached her goal—Aunt Polly. ‘Oh, Aunt Polly, Aunt Polly, did you mean it, really? Why, that room’s got EVERYTHING—the carpet and curtains and three pictures, besides the one outdoors, too, ‘cause the windows look the same way. Oh, Aunt Polly!’ ‘Very well, Pollyanna. I am gratified that you like the change, of course; but if you think so much of all those things, I trust you will take proper care of them; that’s all. Pollyanna, please pick up that chair; and you have banged two doors in the last half-minute.’ Miss Polly spoke sternly, all the more sternly because, for some inexplicable reason, she felt inclined to cry—and Miss Polly was not used to feel- ing inclined to cry. Pollyanna picked up the chair. ‘Yes’m; I know I banged ‘em—those doors,’ she admitted cheerfully. ‘You see I’d just found out about the room, and I reckon you’d have banged doors if—‘ Pollyanna stopped short and eyed her aunt with new interest. ‘Aunt Polly, DID you ever bang doors?’ ‘I hope—not, Pollyanna!’ Miss Polly’s voice was properly shocked. ‘Why, Aunt Polly, what a shame!’ Pollyanna’s face ex- pressed only concerned sympathy. ‘A shame!’ repeated Aunt Polly, too dazed to say more. ‘Why, yes. You see, if you’d felt like banging doors you’d have banged ‘em, of course; and if you didn’t, that must have meant that you weren’t ever glad over anything—or you would have banged ‘em. You couldn’t have helped it. And I’m so sorry you weren’t ever glad over anything!’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 83

‘PollyANna!’ gasped the lady; but Pollyanna was gone, and only the distant bang of the attic-stairway door an- swered for her. Pollyanna had gone to help Nancy bring down ‘her things.’ Miss Polly, in the sitting room, felt vaguely disturbed;— but then, of course she HAD been glad—over some things! 84 Pollyanna

CHAPTER XI. INTRODUCING JIMMY August came. August brought several surprises and some changes—none of which, however, were really a surprise to Nancy. Nancy, since Pollyanna’s arrival, had come to look for surprises and changes. First there was the kitten. Pollyanna found the kitten mewing pitifully some dis- tance down the road. When systematic questioning of the neighbors failed to find any one who claimed it, Pollyanna brought it home at once, as a matter of course. ‘And I was glad I didn’t find any one who owned it, too,’ she told her aunt in happy confidence; ‘ ‘cause I wanted to bring it home all the time. I love kitties. I knew you’d be glad to let it live here.’ Miss Polly looked at the forlorn little gray bunch of ne- glected misery in Pollyanna’s arms, and shivered: Miss Polly did not care for cats—not even pretty, healthy, clean ones. ‘Ugh! Pollyanna! What a dirty little beast! And it’s sick, I’m sure, and all mangy and fleay.’ ‘I know it, poor little thing,’ crooned Pollyanna, tenderly, looking into the little creature’s frightened eyes. ‘And it’s all trembly, too, it’s so scared. You see it doesn’t know, yet, that we’re going to keep it, of course.’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 85

‘No—nor anybody else,’ retorted Miss Polly, with mean- ing emphasis. ‘Oh, yes, they do,’ nodded Pollyanna, entirely misunder- standing her aunt’s words. ‘I told everybody we should keep it, if I didn’t find where it belonged. I knew you’d be glad to have it—poor little lonesome thing!’ Miss Polly opened her lips and tried to speak; but in vain. The curious helpless feeling that had been hers so often since Pollyanna’s arrival, had her now fast in its grip. ‘Of course I knew,’ hurried on Pollyanna, gratefully, ‘that you wouldn’t let a dear little lonesome kitty go hunting for a home when you’d just taken ME in; and I said so to Mrs. Ford when she asked if you’d let me keep it. Why, I had the Ladies’ Aid, you know, and kitty didn’t have anybody. I knew you’d feel that way,’ she nodded happily, as she ran from the room. ‘But, Pollyanna, Pollyanna,’ remonstrated Miss Polly. ‘I don’t—‘ But Pollyanna was already halfway to the kitchen, calling: ‘Nancy, Nancy, just see this dear little kitty that Aunt Polly is going to bring up along with me!’ And Aunt Polly, in the sitting room—who abhorred cats—fell back in her chair with a gasp of dismay, powerless to remonstrate. The next day it was a dog, even dirtier and more forlorn, perhaps, than was the kitten; and again Miss Polly, to her dumfounded amazement, found herself figuring as a kind protector and an angel of mercy—a role that Pollyanna so unhesitatingly thrust upon her as a matter of course, that the woman—who abhorred dogs even more than she did 86 Pollyanna

cats, if possible—found herself as before, powerless to re- monstrate. When, in less than a week, however, Pollyanna brought home a small, ragged boy, and confidently claimed the same protection for him, Miss Polly did have something to say. It happened after this wise. On a pleasant Thursday morning Pollyanna had been taking calf’s-foot jelly again to Mrs. Snow. Mrs. Snow and Pollyanna were the best of friends now. Their friendship had started from the third visit Pollyanna had made, the one after she had told Mrs. Snow of the game. Mrs. Snow herself was playing the game now, with Pollyanna. To be sure, she was not playing it very well—she had been sorry for everything for so long, that it was not easy to be glad for anything now. But under Pollyanna’s cheery instructions and merry laughter at her mistakes, she was learning fast. To-day, even, to Pollyanna’s huge delight, she had said that she was glad Pollyanna brought calf’s-foot jelly, because that was just what she had been wanting—she did not know that Milly, at the front door, had told Pollyanna that the minister’s wife had already that day sent over a great bowl- ful of that same kind of jelly. Pollyanna was thinking of this now when suddenly she saw the boy. The boy was sitting in a disconsolate little heap by the roadside, whittling half-heartedly at a small stick. ‘Hullo,’ smiled Pollyanna, engagingly. The boy glanced up, but he looked away again, at once. ‘Hullo yourself,’ he mumbled. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 87

Pollyanna laughed. ‘Now you don’t look as if you’d be glad even for calf’s- foot jelly,’ she chuckled, stopping before him. The boy stirred restlessly, gave her a surprised look, and began to whittle again at his stick, with the dull, broken- bladed knife in his hand. Pollyanna hesitated, then dropped herself comfortably down on the grass near him. In spite of Pollyanna’s brave assertion that she was ‘used to Ladies’ Aiders,’ and ‘didn’t mind,’ she had sighed at times for some companion of her own age. Hence her determination to make the most of this one. ‘My name’s Pollyanna Whittier,’ she began pleasantly. ‘What’s yours?’ Again the boy stirred restlessly. He even almost got to his feet. But he settled back. ‘Jimmy Bean,’ he grunted with ungracious indifference. ‘Good! Now we’re introduced. I’m glad you did your part—some folks don’t, you know. I live at Miss Polly Har- rington’s house. Where do you live?’ ‘Nowhere.’ ‘Nowhere! Why, you can’t do that—everybody lives somewhere,’ asserted Pollyanna. ‘Well, I don’t—just now. I’m huntin’ up a new place.’ ‘Oh! Where is it?’ The boy regarded her with scornful eyes. ‘Silly! As if I’d be a-huntin’ for it—if I knew!’ Pollyanna tossed her head a little. This was not a nice boy, and she did not like to be called ‘silly.’ Still, he was some- 88 Pollyanna

body besides—old folks. Where did you live—before?’ she queried. ‘Well, if you ain’t the beat’em for askin’ questions!’ sighed the boy impatiently. ‘I have to be,’ retorted Pollyanna calmly, ‘else I couldn’t find out a thing about you. If you’d talk more I wouldn’t talk so much.’ The boy gave a short laugh. It was a sheepish laugh, and not quite a willing one; but his face looked a little pleasanter when he spoke this time. ‘All right then—here goes! I’m Jimmy Bean, and I’m ten years old goin’ on eleven. I come last year ter live at the Or- phans’ Home; but they’ve got so many kids there ain’t much room for me, an’ I wa’n’t never wanted, anyhow, I don’t be- lieve. So I’ve quit. I’m goin’ ter live somewheres else—but I hain’t found the place, yet. I’d LIKE a home—jest a common one, ye know, with a mother in it, instead of a Matron. If ye has a home, ye has folks; an’ I hain’t had folks since—dad died. So I’m a-huntin’ now. I’ve tried four houses, but—they didn’t want me—though I said I expected ter work, ‘course. There! Is that all you want ter know?’ The boy’s voice had broken a little over the last two sentences. ‘Why, what a shame!’ sympathized Pollyanna. ‘And didn’t there anybody want you? O dear! I know just how you feel, because after—after my father died, too, there wasn’t any- body but the Ladies’ Aid for me, until Aunt Polly said she’d take—‘ Pollyanna stopped abruptly. The dawning of a won- derful idea began to show in her face. ‘Oh, I know just the place for you,’ she cried. ‘Aunt Polly’ll Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 89

take you—I know she will! Didn’t she take me? And didn’t she take Fluffy and Buffy, when they didn’t have any one to love them, or any place to go?—and they’re only cats and dogs. Oh, come, I know Aunt Polly’ll take you! You don’t know how good and kind she is! Jimmy Bean’s thin little face brightened. ‘Honest Injun? Would she, now? I’d work, ye know, an’ I’m real strong!’ He bared a small, bony arm. ‘Of course she would! Why, my Aunt Polly is the nic- est lady in the world—now that my mama has gone to be a Heaven angel. And there’s rooms—heaps of ‘em,’ she con- tinued, springing to her feet, and tugging at his arm. ‘It’s an awful big house. Maybe, though,’ she added a little anx- iously, as they hurried on, ‘maybe you’ll have to sleep in the attic room. I did, at first. But there’s screens there now, so ‘twon’t be so hot, and the flies can’t get in, either, to bring in the germ-things on their feet. Did you know about that? It’s perfectly lovely! Maybe she’ll let you read the book if you’re good—I mean, if you’re bad. And you’ve got freckles, too,’—with a critical glance—‘so you’ll be glad there isn’t any looking-glass; and the outdoor picture is nicer than any wall-one could be, so you won’t mind sleeping in that room at all, I’m sure,’ panted Pollyanna, finding suddenly that she needed the rest of her breath for purposes other than talk- ing. ‘Gorry!’ exclaimed Jimmy Bean tersely and uncompre- hendingly, but admiringly. Then he added: ‘I shouldn’t think anybody who could talk like that, runnin’, would need ter ask no questions ter fill up time with!’ 90 Pollyanna

Pollyanna laughed. ‘Well, anyhow, you can be glad of that,’ she retorted; ‘for when I’m talking, YOU don’t have to!’ When the house was reached, Pollyanna unhesitating- ly piloted her companion straight into the presence of her amazed aunt. ‘Oh, Aunt Polly,’ she triumphed. ‘just look a-here! I’ve got something ever so much nicer, even, than Fluffy and Buffy for you to bring up. It’s a real live boy. He won’t mind a bit sleeping in the attic, at first, you know, and he says he’ll work; but I shall need him the most of the time to play with, I reckon.’ Miss Polly grew white, then very red. She did not quite understand; but she thought she understood enough. ‘Pollyanna, what does this mean? Who is this dirty little boy? Where did you find him?’ she demanded sharply. The ‘dirty little boy’ fell back a step and looked toward the door. Pollyanna laughed merrily. ‘There, if I didn’t forget to tell you his name! I’m as bad as the Man. And he is dirty, too, isn’t he?—I mean, the boy is— just like Fluffy and Buffy were when you took them in. But I reckon he’ll improve all right by washing, just as they did, and—Oh, I ‘most forgot again,’ she broke off with a laugh. ‘This is Jimmy Bean, Aunt Polly.’ ‘Well, what is he doing here?’ ‘Why, Aunt Polly, I just told you!’ Pollyanna’s eyes were wide with surprise. ‘He’s for you. I brought him home—so he could live here, you know. He wants a home and folks. I told him how good you were to me, and to Fluffy and Buffy, Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 91

and that I knew you would be to him, because of course he’s even nicer than cats and dogs.’ Miss Polly dropped back in her chair and raised a shak- ing hand to her throat. The old helplessness was threatening once more to overcome her. With a visible struggle, how- ever, Miss Polly pulled herself suddenly erect. ‘That will do, Pollyanna. This is a little the most absurd thing you’ve done yet. As if tramp cats and mangy dogs weren’t bad enough but you must needs bring home ragged little beggars from the street, who—‘ There was a sudden stir from the boy. His eyes flashed and his chin came up. With two strides of his sturdy little legs he confronted Miss Polly fearlessly. ‘I ain’t a beggar, marm, an’ I don’t want nothin’ o’ you. I was cal’latin’ ter work, of course, fur my board an’ keep. I wouldn’t have come ter your old house, anyhow, if this ‘ere girl hadn’t ‘a’ made me, a-tellin’ me how you was so good an’ kind that you’d be jest dyin’ ter take me in. So, there!’ And he wheeled about and stalked from the room with a dignity that would have been absurd had it not been so pitiful. ‘Oh, Aunt Polly,’ choked Pollyanna. ‘Why, I thought you’d be GLAD to have him here! I’m sure, I should think you’d be glad—‘ Miss Polly raised her hand with a peremptory gesture of silence. Miss Polly’s nerves had snapped at last. The ‘good and kind’ of the boy’s words were still ringing in her ears, and the old helplessness was almost upon her, she knew. Yet she rallied her forces with the last atom of her will power. ‘Pollyanna,’ she cried sharply, ‘WILL you stop using 92 Pollyanna

that everlasting word ‘glad’! It’s ‘glad’—‘glad’—‘glad’ from morning till night until I think I shall grow wild!’ From sheer amazement Pollyanna’s jaw dropped. ‘Why, Aunt Polly,’ she breathed, ‘I should think you’d be glad to have me gl—Oh!’ she broke off, clapping her hand to her lips and hurrying blindly from the room. Before the boy had reached the end of the driveway, Pol- lyanna overtook him. ‘Boy! Boy! Jimmy Bean, I want you to know how—how sorry I am,’ she panted, catching him with a detaining hand. ‘Sorry nothin’! I ain’t blamin’ you,’ retorted the boy, sul- lenly. ‘But I ain’t no beggar!’ he added, with sudden spirit. ‘Of course you aren’t! But you mustn’t blame auntie,’ ap- pealed Pollyanna. ‘Probably I didn’t do the introducing right, anyhow; and I reckon I didn’t tell her much who you were. She is good and kind, really—she’s always been; but I probably didn’t explain it right. I do wish I could find some place for you, though!’ The boy shrugged his shoulders and half turned away. ‘Never mind. I guess I can find one myself. I ain’t no beg- gar, you know.’ Pollyanna was frowning thoughtfully. Of a sudden she turned, her face illumined. ‘Say, I’ll tell you what I WILL do! The Ladies’ Aid meets this afternoon. I heard Aunt Polly say so. I’ll lay your case before them. That’s what father always did, when he want- ed anything—educating the heathen and new carpets, you know.’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 93

The boy turned fiercely. ‘Well, I ain’t a heathen or a new carpet. Besides—what is a Ladies’ Aid?’ Pollyanna stared in shocked disapproval. ‘Why, Jimmy Bean, wherever have you been brought up?—not to know what a Ladies’ Aid is!’ ‘Oh, all right—if you ain’t tellin’,’ grunted the boy, turn- ing and beginning to walk away indifferently. Pollyanna sprang to his side at once. ‘It’s—it’s—why, it’s just a lot of ladies that meet and sew and give suppers and raise money and—and talk; that’s what a Ladies’ Aid is. They’re awfully kind—that is, most of mine was, back home. I haven’t seen this one here, but they’re always good, I reckon. I’m going to tell them about you this afternoon.’ Again the boy turned fiercely. ‘Not much you will! Maybe you think I’m goin’ ter stand ‘round an’ hear a whole LOT o’ women call me a beggar, in- stead of jest ONE! Not much!’ ‘Oh, but you wouldn’t be there,’ argued Pollyanna, quick- ly. ‘I’d go alone, of course, and tell them.’ ‘You would?’ ‘Yes; and I’d tell it better this time,’ hurried on Pollyanna, quick to see the signs of relenting in the boy’s face. ‘And there’d be some of ‘em, I know, that would be glad to give you a home.’ ‘I’d work—don’t forget ter say that,’ cautioned the boy. ‘Of course not,’ promised Pollyanna, happily, sure now that her point was gained. ‘Then I’ll let you know to-mor- 94 Pollyanna

row.’ ‘Where?’ ‘By the road—where I found you to-day; near Mrs. Snow’s house.’ ‘All right. I’ll be there.’ The boy paused before he went on slowly: ‘Maybe I’d better go back, then, for ter-night, ter the Home. You see I hain’t no other place ter stay; and—and I didn’t leave till this mornin’. I slipped out. I didn’t tell ‘em I wasn’t comin’ back, else they’d pretend I couldn’t come— though I’m thinkin’ they won’t do no worryin’ when I don’t show up sometime. They ain’t like FOLKS, ye know. They don’t CARE!’ ‘I know,’ nodded Pollyanna, with understanding eyes. ‘But I’m sure, when I see you to-morrow, I’ll have just a com- mon home and folks that do care all ready for you. Good-by!’ she called brightly, as she turned back toward the house. In the sitting-room window at that moment, Miss Pol- ly, who had been watching the two children, followed with sombre eyes the boy until a bend of the road hid him from sight. Then she sighed, turned, and walked listlesly up- stairs—and Miss Polly did not usually move listlessly. In her ears still was the boy’s scornful ‘you was so good and kind.’ In her heart was a curious sense of desolation—as of something lost. Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 95

CHAPTER XII. BEFORE THE LADIES’ AID Dinner, which came at noon in the Harrington home- stead, was a silent meal on the day of the Ladies’ Aid meeting. Pollyanna, it is true, tried to talk; but she did not make a success of it, chiefly because four times she was obliged to break off a ‘glad’ in the middle of it, much to her blushing discomfort. The fifth time it happened, Miss Polly moved her head wearily. ‘There, there, child, say it, if you want to,’ she sighed. ‘I’m sure I’d rather you did than not if it’s going to make all this fuss.’ Pollyanna’s puckered little face cleared. ‘Oh, thank you. I’m afraid it would be pretty hard—not to say it. You see I’ve played it so long.’ ‘You’ve—what?’ demanded Aunt Polly. ‘Played it—the game, you know, that father—‘ Pollyan- na stopped with a painful blush at finding herself so soon again on forbidden ground. Aunt Polly frowned and said nothing. The rest of the meal was a silent one. Pollyanna was not sorry to hear Aunt Polly tell the min- ister’s wife over the telephone, a little later, that she would not be at the Ladies’ Aid meeting that afternoon, owing to a 96 Pollyanna

headache. When Aunt Polly went up-stairs to her room and closed the door, Pollyanna tried to be sorry for the head- ache; but she could not help feeling glad that her aunt was not to be present that afternoon when she laid the case of Jimmy Bean before the Ladies’ Aid. She could not forget that Aunt Polly had called Jimmy Bean a little beggar; and she did not want Aunt Polly to call him that—before the Ladies’ Aid. Pollyanna knew that the Ladies’ Aid met at two o’clock in the chapel next the church, not quite half a mile from home. She planned her going, therefore, so that she should get there a little before three. ‘I want them all to be there,’ she said to herself; ‘else the very one that wasn’t there might be the one who would be wanting to give Jimmy Bean a home; and, of course, two o’clock always means three, really—to Ladies’ Aiders.’ Quietly, but with confident courage, Pollyanna ascended the chapel steps, pushed open the door and entered the ves- tibule. A soft babel of feminine chatter and laughter came from the main room. Hesitating only a brief moment Pol- lyanna pushed open one of the inner doors. The chatter dropped to a surprised hush. Pollyanna ad- vanced a little timidly. Now that the time had come, she felt unwontedly shy. After all, these half-strange, half-familiar faces about her were not her own dear Ladies’ Aid. ‘How do you do, Ladies’ Aiders?’ she faltered politely. ‘I’m Pollyanna Whittier. I—I reckon some of you know me, maybe; anyway, I do YOU—only I don’t know you all to- gether this way.’ Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 97

The silence could almost be felt now. Some of the ladies did know this rather extraordinary niece of their fellow- member, and nearly all had heard of her; but not one of them could think of anything to say, just then. ‘I—I’ve come to—to lay the case before you,’ stammered Pollyanna, after a moment, unconsciously falling into her father’s familiar phraseology. There was a slight rustle. ‘Did—did your aunt send you, my dear? asked Mrs. Ford, the minister’s wife. Pollyanna colored a little. ‘Oh, no. I came all by myself. You see, I’m used to Ladies’ Aiders. It was Ladies’ Aiders that brought me up—with fa- ther.’ Somebody tittered hysterically, and the minister’s wife frowned. ‘Yes, dear. What is it?’ ‘Well, it—it’s Jimmy Bean,’ sighed Pollyanna. ‘He hasn’t any home except the Orphan one, and they’re full, and don’t want him, anyhow, he thinks; so he wants another. He wants one of the common kind, that has a mother instead of a Matron in it—folks, you know, that’ll care. He’s ten years old going on eleven. I thought some of you might like him— to live with you, you know.’ ‘Well, did you ever!’ murmured a voice, breaking the dazed pause that followed Pollyanna’s words. With anxious eyes Pollyanna swept the circle of faces about her. ‘Oh, I forgot to say; he will work,’ she supplemented ea- 98 Pollyanna

gerly. Still there was silence; then, coldly, one or two women began to question her. After a time they all had the story and began to talk among themselves, animatedly, not quite pleasantly. Pollyanna listened with growing anxiety. Some of what was said she could not understand. She did gather, after a time, however, that there was no woman there who had a home to give him, though every woman seemed to think that some of the others might take him, as there were sever- al who had no little boys of their own already in their homes. But there was no one who agreed herself to take him. Then she heard the minister’s wife suggest timidly that they, as a society, might perhaps assume his support and education instead of sending quite so much money this year to the little boys in far-away India. A great many ladies talked then, and several of them talk- ed all at once, and even more loudly and more unpleasantly than before. It seemed that their society was famous for its offering to Hindu missions, and several said they should die of mortification if it should be less this year. Some of what was said at this time Pollyanna again thought she could not have understood, too, for it sounded almost as if they did not care at all what the money DID, so long as the sum op- posite the name of their society in a certain ‘report’ ‘headed the list’—and of course that could not be what they meant at all! But it was all very confusing, and not quite pleasant, so that Pollyanna was glad, indeed, when at last she found herself outside in the hushed, sweet air—only she was very Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com 99

sorry, too: for she knew it was not going to be easy, or any- thing but sad, to tell Jimmy Bean to-morrow that the Ladies’ Aid had decided that they would rather send all their money to bring up the little India boys than to save out enough to bring up one little boy in their own town, for which they would not get ‘a bit of credit in the report,’ according to the tall lady who wore spectacles. ‘Not but that it’s good, of course, to send money to the heathen, and I shouldn’t want ‘em not to send SOME there,’ sighed Pollyanna to herself, as she trudged sorrowfully along. ‘But they acted as if little boys HERE weren’t any ac- count—only little boys ‘way off. I should THINK, though, they’d rather see Jimmy Bean grow—than just a report! 100 Pollyanna